


Sweet Music in the Dark

by Ashtree11



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Kissing, Reincarnation AU, Romance, also on brand with hozier lyric titles heyo!, canon adjacent?, in which i project my pining induced insomnia onto ingrid, is it still canon compliant if the canon was in a past life?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtree11/pseuds/Ashtree11
Summary: Ingrid hears a ghost story surrounding the old palace left by Old Fodlan's past, but something about it sounds familiar. Something about a ghostly white haired emperor awaiting the return of her most beloved knight nudges at the recesses of her mind. Why was it so familiar?
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	Sweet Music in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for reincarnation stories and I'm absolutely weak for when there is a romance woven in so why not make it edelgrid. I hope I did it justice here and that you guys enjoy it :3

“I wonder if they’ll ever make that old abandoned palace like a theme park attraction or something,” Sylvain said off hand before taking a take of his burger.

“Why should they? It’s a valuable piece of Fodlan’s history,” Ashe vehemently protested.

“Don’t waste your breath, Ashe,” Felix groused, mindlessly stirring his straw around in his drink. “He makes a habit of talking out of his ass for the sake of listening to his own voice.”

“Well, with cords like mine, how could I not?” Sylvain countered with a haughty puff of his chest. 

Ingrid rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her meal that was already over half way finished. She’s heard of the old palace north of the town they lived in, how it was one of the last remaining remains of Old Fodlan. An important relic sure, but that was the extent of her knowledge on the topic and she never had a drive of wanting to learn more about it.

“But yeah you’re right, Ashe,” Sylvain continued. “With a place  _ that _ haunted, no way a contractor is gonna get anywhere near it.”

Until now.

“Haunted?” Ingrid parroted around a mouthful of fries.

Her childhood friend smirked. “Oho? Is that interest I hear from the all mighty indifferent Ingrid?”

“Please no ghost talk when we’re eating,” Ashe pleaded.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want Ingrid to lose any more sleep.”

Ingrid swatted his arm. “As if I’d let  _ you _ of all people be the reason I lose sleep.” It took less than a second to realize what exactly she was inviting with a statement like that. “Don’t you dare say anything about that, Sylvain or so help me—”

“I’m not, I’m not,” he said, his hands raised in surrender. He returned his attention back to the topic at hand. “Even so, I shall keep it brief for the faint of heart,” he reassured with a dramatic, solemn bow of his head. 

“Here we go,” Felix sighed and Ingrid was inclined to agree with him. To get the information from  _ Sylvain _ of all people was less than ideal, but there was no denying his aptitude for history, especially when it came to Old Fodlan. Not to mention she will admit that the haunting part sparked a little curiosity. Besides, who doesn’t like a good ghost story?

Well... Ashe doesn’t, she noted guiltily. “We don’t have to talk about it now,” she said.

“Aw, but you’ll miss out on how a beautiful white haired Emperor walks through her palace’s empty halls,” Sylvain dove in without preamble. “Or how she awaits the return of her beloved knight.” He turned to Ashe with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “See the story has a knight in it, Ashe. Does that make it a little better?”

Ashe shifted in his seat. “What kind of knight was he?”

To that Sylvain held up a finger, his lips upturned in an amused smile. “Not a ‘he’, a  _ she _ .”

If Ingrid’s attention wasn’t already captured, it certainly was now. A white-haired Emperor and a beloved lady knight who’s return she awaits... Why did that sound so familiar? Had she heard this story before?

“The knight was as fearless as they come, strong and noble, of Faerghus lineage. But devoted only to her Adrestian Emperor, whom she betrayed her own home country for during the great war.”

“A knight who betrayed her homeland to an empire with no knights at all?” Ashe said incredulously. “Sounds a bit inconsistent and paradoxical to me.” 

“Call it what you want, but that’s how the stories describe her. They say it was a love that could transcend lifetimes. Either by blessing of the goddess, or a curse placed upon them by a powerful mage, the two are separated by the hands of time to one day be reunited by the guidance of fate.”

“Since when did you get so damn poetic,” Felix commented while Ashe had leaned forward in rapt interest.

“It’s a beautiful story, I must do it justice,” he defended as he crossed a hand over his heart like he was taking an oath. “Such is the responsibility of a storyteller.”

“Uh huh.”

“So is this a ghost story, or reincarnation?” Ingrid questioned.

Sylvain thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Hard to say honestly. The tale is old so there’s a lot of different interpretations and rewrites and mistranslations, et cetera, et cetera.”

“That’s frustrating,” Ingrid grumbled, mostly to herself.

“Welcome to the life of a historian,” Sylvain said, grinning wide and without a hint of sarcasm.

“Has anyone actually gone into the palace?” Ingrid wondered.

“Oh sure. Plenty of ghost hunter shows used it for their specials, but the Emperor doesn’t reveal herself to just anybody. Anyone who got close enough to the palace says that when you hear the sound of a piano playing, that’s how you know the Emperor is there, roaming the halls for her beloved.”

Again, that feeling of familiarity returned. For a moment, Ingrid could swear that she heard the gentle plinkings of piano keys ring out in her ears—the start of a nameless melody. If the Emperor was truly there in the palace waiting for her lover, she must be so lonely. She could relate to that... 

Perhaps this was truly a ghost story with a fate so bleak.

Shaking her head free of the train of thought, Ingrid crumpled up the paper wrappings and gathered the rest of her trash onto the serving tray before standing up from her seat. “Thanks for the story, Sylvain, but I have a test to study for.”

“Any time,” he answered back jovially.

They all exchanged their goodbyes and good lucks and that should’ve been the end of it. She visited the library, studied her notes for the upcoming test, attended her classes, and arrived back in her dorm room within a reasonable hour to eat, shower, and get ready for bed. 

Yet it wasn’t the end.

Ingrid turned over in her sleep and threw her arm over to pull her sleeping partner closer. She startled awake when all she felt was cold, empty sheets. With a sigh mixed with disappointment and exasperation, she reminded herself that she was still single.

She reached over the side of the bed where her third pillow had fallen from her earlier tossing and turning. She squeezed it close to her chest, burying her face in the pillowcase where it smelled like the mint tea she drinks. It was a poor substitute with how long it will take to satisfy her craving for warmth, but it was the only one she had.

This wasn’t the first time she expected to find someone in her bed. It was like a muscle memory she doesn’t remember learning. Every time the grogginess wore off, she felt a hollowness inside herself she had no idea how to fill.

She wouldn’t say that she was lonely per se. She loved her friends and for all the experiences they shared and endured together, that should be enough, right? And yet whenever she slept at night a hole seemed to just open up, like something was missing. Or rather, someone important.

She rolled onto her back with her arms still secure around the plush pillow and stared blankly at the ceiling. With nothing else to focus on, her thoughts recalled the ghost story and the unshakable feeling that she’s heard it before. It was a hardcore case of d éjà vu, but she’d bank her life savings, as small as it was, to defend that she hadn’t.

So why...?

She heaved another deep sigh, her eyes falling closed at the next thought to pop into her head. Was she really about to go visit an old abandoned palace just because of a silly ghost story and curiosity?

***

The answer turned out to be yes, yes she was. Dressed in the darkest hoodie she owned and guided only by her phone light, Ingrid sauntered up towards the old wrought iron gates where vines of ivy had entangled themselves around the bars. A chain and padlock hung uselessly from its center, giving her free reign to push the gate open with an ear-splitting creak. She flinched at the sound. While she knew no one would be around to hear it, it didn’t mean that her terrible luck wouldn’t produce some random police officer to swoop in out of nowhere to arrest her for trespassing on private property in the middle of the night.

She slipped inside, officially entering the front courtyard of the palace as it loomed ominously overhead. But despite its decrepit state, it was still a sight to behold. Towering pillars lined the perimeter, masterful brickwork bordered ornately paned windows that gleamed in the moonlight. She knew some architectural majors who would jump at the chance to study this place. But architecture wasn’t what she was here for.

Ingrid crossed over the courtyard, mindful not to step into the flowerbeds of red carnations and white lilies that have been left to overgrow over the years. She climbed up the stone steps that led up towards large double doors with chipped and faded crimson paint. Dull brass knockers in the shape of eagles in flight hung within arm’s reach, but instead Ingrid laid her hand flat against the door, ready to push it open.

Then... soft piano keys floated through the night air, muffled by the heavy doors but undoubtedly present.

Ingrid pulled her hand away as if she had been scalded. No way she was hearing that right now. Was she?

She pressed an ear to the door. Piano notes rang from within. There was no mistaking it.

_ Sylvain must be behind this _ , she reasoned and scoffed to herself as she pushed open the doors and stepped into the foyer. The years had not been kind to the palace’s interior. Moth-eaten red rugs with gold threads cushioned her boots, torn canvases of oil paintings, peeling wallpaper, and cracked vases on rotted wooden stands lined every wall. Looters and antique collectors have no doubt come in to take the better looking relics.

The nameless melody of the piano further enveloped her as she ventured deeper into the palace. Panning her phone light over the dust filled corridors and their antique trinkets, Ingrid’s d éjà vu had returned in full, only this time it was strangely accompanied by nostalgia. Images flashed over her eyes, replacing the haggard, dark halls with a brightly lit afternoon sun and the items became clean and shiny as if they had just been purchased. Then she blinked and the image disappeared.  _ Okay that’s weird. _

At some point, she climbed a staircase that led up to a long corridor where a single door waited at the end of it. Tall windows bled with moonlight that lit her path. Slowly, she made her way towards the lone door, compelled by some invisible string tugging at her limbs. Almost like... a muscle memory. Her heart thundered in her chest as the nostalgia persisted then blossomed into a foreign warmth and comfort when she turned the knob and stepped inside.

It was a spacious room, fit for an Emperor as it housed its own washroom, a vanity mirror, a balcony, and a large plush bed. Like the rest of the palace, the room had decayed but that didn’t stop her mind’s eye from seeing a different image of it, one where the bed was freshly disheveled, morning light filtered through sheer curtains, and a gentle humming drifted out from the washroom. Her muscles relaxed reflexively, as if she was coming home after a long, stressful day of classes.

Then the humming ceased and her ears perked at the distant call of, “Welcome home, my knight.”

Ingrid closed the door with a slam. The warmth receded and the tension returned to her limbs with fervor. All the while the piano continued to play. The song didn’t seem to have an end. Just a continuous loop of longing, a mournful beckoning... to her? No of course not, that’s not possible. What the hell was happening to her? She must be letting Sylvain’s silly story play with her imagination.

But why does it feel like she’s heard this song?

She shook her head. No, this was Sylvain’s doing. It had to be. He must’ve told that story to lure her out here to play a prank, nothing more. The pianist must be someone he hired just for the occasion too.

She followed the music intent on confronting the person, send them home, and possibly wring Sylvain’s neck for her troubles. She traveled back down the corridor, down the staircase and towards the back of the palace where white double doors, opened and proudly showcasing the ballroom. Though her annoyance had driven her here, she couldn’t help but gape at the scale of the ballroom. She walked inside, turning in a slow circle as she took in the sight. To simply describe it as ‘grand’, would be a disservice. It was straight out of a fairytale with its tall and wide windows with a view of the palace gardens, a crystal chandelier hanging overhead, and more paintings of landscapes of Old Fodlan nailed over elegant wall sconces. Her boots padded over the marble floor that reminded her of pearls with how smooth it was. It made it want to tread carefully lest she scuff it with her dirtied shoes.

At the far end of the ballroom, a grand black piano that looked surprisingly in good shape, stood at the top of a raised stage and sitting on its bench was a woman clad in a crimson sweater and a white scarf. Her light brown hair shined so bright in the moonlight that it looked almost white, brushing against her arm as her head swayed to the music. Her pale fingers glided over the ivory keys of the instrument with her eyes closed in bliss.

Ingrid stood at the foot of the stage, enraptured by the performance and the ethereal woman before her. She had no idea who this woman was, yet it felt as though she had... lifetimes ago.

It wasn’t until the song slowed to a stop, ending on a lingering high note, that the woman opened her eyes, revealing luminous violet irises.

Ingrid felt her heart seize and she hastily moved backwards, only to trip over her own feet and fell with a thud punctuated by her yelp of pain, both of which echoed loudly through the empty ballroom.

The woman at the piano startled, standing up so quickly that the bench toppled backwards.

Ingrid pushed herself to sit up, locking gazes with those violet eyes that were now wide with fear. After a few thunderous heartbeats, the woman looked at her curiosity and took tentative steps forward.

“Hello?” the woman greeted.

“Hi?” Ingrid returned. The shock ebbed out of her system the longer she stared at the woman. She was beautiful, radiant even, in the pale moonlight. When she smiled, Ingrid’s heart stuttered and once more, warmth blossomed in her chest, the same sensation she felt when she saw that bedroom. Like she was returning home...

“You’re here,” the woman said, just above a whisper.

Ingrid was frozen where she sat, gawking up at the stranger. A flood of memories washed over her, glimpses of lives that weren’t hers yet also  _ were _ . It was like someone had hit a rewind button on her life. It was dizzying as she watched them flash before her eyes in rapid succession, going faster and faster. Finally, her mind settled on a single memory. It was her kneeling before a woman in red and gold regalia and golden horned crown. She bowed her head and crossed her arm over her chest in fealty. A gloved hand reached under her chin to raise her eyes upward until she met the striking violet eyes of her Emperor. Joyful elation and steadfast loyalty coursed through her, but neither were as strong as the undeniable affection she felt as she fixed the Emperor with a loving gaze.

Then the memory faded and the white-haired Emperor’s form was replaced with the brunette woman.

Ingrid breathed heavily, her eyes wide they fell to the floor in shock. She was the knight in the story... 

Her knee-jerk reaction was to deny it, but she now had memories from countless lifetimes that confirmed it. Soon her mind was running rampant with moments of fighting bloody battles with weapons from both sword to lance to gun. Then they were interrupted with moments of pride and freedom in riding horseback before those became the heart-stopping fear from falling off a pegasus that then shifted into crash landing in a fighter plane. It was all so much to take in at once it felt like she was drowning in them.

The woman knelt down and gently shushed Ingrid’s frantic breathing. She reached to swipe her thumb across Ingrid’s cheek where a tear was making its way down. 

In an instant, her mind quieted, like a roaring wind turning into a cool summer breeze. Her ragged breaths calmed and with it the new old memories receded into the recesses of her mind.

Finally, Ingrid looked up at the woman, who had been an endless source of warmth and comfort in every one of these lifetimes, and gave her a smile in both gratefulness and relearned fondness.

“You remember me?” the woman asked, hushed with disbelief.

Ingrid nodded mutely, not trusting her own voice with a full sentence. Instead she shifted her position so that she was kneeling. Gingerly, she grasped the woman’s hand in both of hers and brought it up to her lips for a soft kiss. Though she didn’t trust her voice, she had just enough to utter the woman’s name as it echoed from the voices of her past lives. A name that had struck fear in her enemies and morale in her troops, but also a name only Ingrid had been allowed to say with endearment and adoration in moments of privacy and intimacy. “Edelgard.  _ El _ .”

Edelgard smiled in relief with a sheen of tears coating her eyes. “It took you less time to remember in this life.”

Ingrid nodded, recalling in her new memories of long days, even weeks, spent waiting to recover her past lives and remember Edelgard completely. But this time was different. 

She ghosted her lips over the inside of Edelgard’s wrist. “I’ve missed you,” she said by way of explanation. And she truly had. Her nights spent clutching a cold pillow to her chest in attempt to fill the hollowness in her chest finally made sense.

“And I you, my love.” Edelgard embraced her fully and, at last, the warmth that Ingrid had been craving for as long as she could remember had been sated. Edelgard pressed their foreheads together as soft sobs escaped past her watery smile. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“You must be awfully sentimental in this life to choose this run down place for our meeting again,” Ingrid teased, brushing her nose against Edelgard’s. “How is it that you’re always the one to remember me first? I want a chance to sweep you off your feet with a piano ballad too.”

“I don’t make the rules, darling. And who are you calling sentimental? It’s worked before, hasn’t it?” the former emperor challenged. “Even having our own little legend helps expedite things with how reliably curious you are.”

“I’d have something indignant to say, but I’m too happy to care right now.”

Edelgard chuckled before their lips met in a languid kiss. Ingrid brought a hand up to brush along Edelgard’s cheekbone until she caught a lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. Likewise, Edelgard threaded her fingers through her former knight’s short hair, relishing in its silkiness.

And there they stayed for a long while, content in each other’s arms and basking in their synchronized heartbeats.

“So what have you been up to in this life, my love?” Edelgard whispered into the crook of Ingrid’s neck where she had been nuzzling.

Ingrid exhaled, suddenly feeling drowsy. It was then that her body finally realized that it was nearly two in the morning. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” she hummed. “Come home with me?”

“How salacious of you, Ingrid,” Edelgard mused. “Let’s at least have a proper meal together first.”

The former knight rolled her eyes, but she laughed anyway. “You know what I meant.”

“Of course I do, but I couldn’t resist teasing you. It’s still so fun.”

The two stood up from their spot on the ballroom floor and left the ruined palace. When they arrived back in Ingrid’s dorm, they settled onto the bed with Edelgard’s back flush against Ingrid’s front.

She wrapped an arm around the former emperor and pulled her close, burying her nose in her soft brown locks where a trace of bergamot tickled her senses.

Needless to say, it was the best sleep Ingrid ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> As always you can find me on twitter @ashtree111 where I have a vague criteria of which posts get retweeted and which posts get liked


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